


Where all the ships come crashing

by elzierav



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergent, Character studies, Flirting, Loneliness, M/M, Mentioned injuries, Mentioned trauma, Misunderstandings, Multi, Pining, Qrow is shipped with everyone, Shipping, Trust Issues, Written before episode 12, fair game, past alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22284061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elzierav/pseuds/elzierav
Summary: Surely Clover hadn’t given in to the fickle supposition the dashing shapeshifter would show particular interest in him, much less in a deep (no pun intended!) and meaningful way? Everywhere Qrow went, everywhere he flew must be a handful of Winter Schnees falling head over heels for him with whom he would gladly resolve any sexual tension like a blackbird showing passing interest in some shiny trinket.Or five people Clover is certain want to get lucky with Qrow, and one person Qrow's actually interested in.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi, mentioned Qrow Branwen/Glynda Goodwitch, mentioned Qrow Branwen/James Ironwood, mentioned Qrow Branwen/Ozpin, mentioned Qrow Branwen/Robyn Hill, mentioned Qrow Branwen/Winter Schnee
Comments: 34
Kudos: 180





	1. Commander Winter Schnee

**Author's Note:**

> In my head Qrow is a launcher of a thousand ships, and I certainly don't mind him being shipped with many of the adult characters on the show (not in the sense that I want to see it in canon, but that it would be cute and/or sexy in context, I'm weird, I know). But still in the present situation I think Clover could be the right one to get our favourite birdie the happiness he deserves.  
> This fic is a tribute to that silly headcanon, sorry not sorry xx
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: mention of injuries and trauma, mention of alcoholism, sexual noises, mild swearing

The Ace Ops’ usual training room was an eyesore to behold. Not only had multiple columns been knocked over, but their cubes lay shattered and stabbed, turquoise light flickering through black cracks, low buzzing around torn cables. Suppressing a sigh, Clover drew his Scroll and sent some pictures to the maintenance department - it wouldn’t be another half hour before everything was repaired or replaced and his team would be able to train. Bending down to pick up the dark shards littering the floor in one large hand, he balanced his Scroll in the other palm to distractedly check who were the room’s previous occupants who could have caused such mayhem. 

Commander Schnee and Professor Branwen - what a surprise. Whenever these two collided, collateral damage seemed to follow, as if rippling from the palpable tension crackling between them. Maybe Clover should talk to them and convince them that if they absolutely wanted to spar - why on Remnant would they want to was honestly beyond him - they should book the room  _ after  _ the Ace Op training slot, not right before. As he notified his team for the delay and accordingly rescheduled the session, Clover caught some fragments of agitated conversation from the locker room next door, accompanied by the recognisable clicks of increasingly rapid heels against the tiled floor. 

“... until I found out,” the Special Operative finished icily. 

“That’s nothing, there’s not even a scar,” Qrow protested, “I can’t report every single scratch in the mission brief, Ice Queen, I’m a Huntsman, not a damn bureaucrat.”

“How dare you call that a scratch? You are saying my sister did not get a physical scar from her injury in Haven, but what about psychological scars? Weiss has been waking up at night, in tears, clutching her gut like she can still feel the pain of that spear piercing through her side. Don’t you think she could’ve used some help, used someone to talk to? That if you had told me, I could’ve helped her sooner? Doesn’t your stupid bird brain think that I deserved to know that?”

“If I were your sister, I’m sure I wouldn’t want everyone to know, not...”

“But you’re not her,” she interjected sharply, her words slicing the tense atmosphere like a knife through fabric. “It’s not because you totally disregard your own health and safety that you must assume everyone else does. And I’m not everyone, I’m her sister! And don’t even...”

“Winter, listen to me. Your sister’s strong, she’s become stronger than you’ve last seen her, stronger than you imagine. And that’s because every time she’s been knocked down, she gets right back up and never stops fighting, never stops moving forward. She doesn’t need someone to hold her back any more, that’s the last thing she needs. And the last thing Jacques Schnee needs is a goddamn excuse to keep her prisoner  _ for her safety _ again.”

Winter hissed at that, after which echoed the loud clang of bodies slammed against hollow metal lockers. Qrow gasped quietly at the impact, but she called out, imperturbable.

“You don’t know my sister. You don’t know me. You think we’re all like those ruffian tribesmen you grew up with, each only minding their own survival like worms in the mud. For you, fighting alone is being strong, while trusting your family, asking for help, talking about your scars is showing weakness. You’d rather drown your sorrows alone at the miserable bottom of that flask of yours than open up to anyone. I know your kind, your vile kind… alcoholism destroyed my household, and I won’t let another drunkard like you hurt my sister.”

The tirade ended in a mere whisper, uttered like a promise, as if Qrow and Winter stood close enough to breathe the same air. Clover could only guess her words through the door. 

“So what?” he spat. “Now you wanna protect your sister? Now, because you’re powerful and it’s convenient? Where were you when she was young and vulnerable, at the mercy of your abusive father, your drunkard mother and your psycho brother? Were you there to protect her and guide her? No, that’s right, you left for the Academy, to follow your bright path and join the military. You could have stayed with Weiss, and instead you ran away! You may feel high and mighty and look prim and proper, but under all those layers of uniform you’re just like those you call worms. You run away from your kin when they need you most, you’re just like my sister!”

With the Huntsman’s outburst resonated a loud bang, metal scraping loudly against the floor and ramming into the wall. Something cracked at the impact, no doubt a product of Qrow’s Semblance, letting Clover wonder if he should get in and intervene before more collateral damage occurred. But of course the door was locked, and the Ace Op could only placate his ear against it to follow the conversation inside, in an attempt to piece together the events being mentioned. He could not be certain about all of the facts, but could tell how much they mattered to Qrow and Winter, how much it hurt them to finally speak out the truth, caged in for so long, in the pseudo-intimacy of that intense heart-to-heart instant.

But the sounds coming next were not words. Someone, sounding like Qrow, was moaning audibly, breath coming in short pants among a river of muffled curses Clover couldn’t quite make out. Winter’s heels tapped and slid precipitantly, erratically around the floor, with sparse gasps and swears of her own muttered under her breath. Clover’s brow furrowed in confusion: was this what they’d come to? Working out all that unresolved... sexual tension? 

“Qrow… I’m… I’m sorry… for everything...” she exhaled, only earning unintelligible groans in response, as the lockers rhythmically shook and bounced against the wall at increasing pace. “Will you stay still!? I… Hey!... Argh...”

Intimate acts weren’t prohibited in the changing rooms, Clover reasoned, and the Specialist’s military grade together with the Huntsman’s equivalent rank in a different Kingdom did not prevent any form of relationship between them under Atlesian martial law. So why was Clover so frustrated all of sudden and seriously considering bringing the door down on the two lovebirds? 

Was it because the Ace Op had thought thus far that Qrow had been receptive to Clover’s less than subtle flirting? As a good little tin soldier, the younger man had always been honest and worn his heart on his sleeve, or lack thereof. He’d always been straightforward in his compliments and encouragements toward Qrow, but for what? Surely the Operative hadn’t given in to the fickle supposition the dashing shapeshifter would show particular interest in him, much less in a deep (no pun intended!) and meaningful way? After all, Qrow was undeniably attractive and beyond competent in his craft, enough so to land anyone he set his mesmerising crimson eyes on. Everywhere he went, everywhere he flew must be a handful of Winter Schnees falling head over heels for him with whom he would gladly resolve any sexual tension like a blackbird showing passing interest in some shiny trinket. 

He couldn’t decide what irked him more, whether it was Winter was one of only two people in Atlas to outrank him, or that he could have been naive enough to believe Qrow would favour men over the Specialist’s ample bosom. Whatever it was, as Qrow let out a yelp loud enough to make the walls tremble, the Ace Op decided he’d had enough and sent the door flying with a single kick of his boot. 

“What’s going on in here? Is someone injured?”

The only response was a puff of black feathers darting its way through the door. When Clover’s gaze met hers, Winter was sitting on a half-collapsed wooden bench pressed against the lockers, uncharacteristically dishevelled with soot-black plumage entangled in her usually orderly silver bun. She half-heartedly adjusted her hair before responding in her most neutral tone:

“Mr. Branwen got mad and decided to take out his frustration on Atlas property,” her gloved hand pointed to the bench and lockers, “but with his Semblance and idiocy couldn’t stop himself from getting a wood splinter in his hand. I helped him get it out but he chickened out and decided to crow out because he’d be too ashamed to thank me. I don’t know how the General can even bring himself to trust this man.”

“Thank you for your explanation, Commander Schnee,” he replied after a pause, his tone betraying his complete disbelief. “May I request that you and Mr. Branwen avoid to plan such... business just before the Ace Op training session in the future? I’ll call maintenance to have this bench replaced, alongside everything else in the training room.”

“And the door, Captain Ebi,” Winter commented. “Don’t forget the door.”


	2. Headmistress Glynda Goodwitch

Headmistress Glynda Goodwitch of Beacon Academy, Clover had come to realise, did not resort to raising her voice when she was irate. Instead, she meant every word she whispered like a threat to obliterate her interlocutors personally with her telekinesis should they not listen and comply. Which was why everyone around General Ironwood’s desk at that very instant attentively awaited the slow, calm, murmured syllables pouring out of her lips through their video call. 

“Your embargo is everything Salem wants. She wants to divide and conquer us, James,” she spoke. “And Beacon is among those who suffered the most. Rebuilding our Academy from the ground up would have been considerably faster and easier if we could acquire Dust from the SDC and obtain technological support from Atlas. Much of the Kingdom’s Dust supplies were pillaged by the White Fang and part of our qualified workforce who could have helped reconstruction died during the fall. You all know Atlas will need Beacon and its newly trained Huntsmen to stand and fight alongside you against Salem. So you cannot abandon us, you cannot abandon the world when it needs you the most.”

The screen glitched with a sprinkle of artifacts, fizzling with pulses of static. The prototype, scaled-down version of the communication tower had just been installed in Amity, barely able to support a direct call line from Ironwood’s headquarters to Glynda’s makeshift office. The tower was a crude contraption, like a scrawny steel finger pointed toward the skies. But it did its job efficiently, like most everything in Atlas. 

The headmistress pushed her thin-framed glasses against her nose, rubbing the growing creases under her eyes with a heavy sigh. Once so regal and poised, her demeanor betrayed her exhaustion, after months of maintaining school in session while rebuilding the Academy and surrounding city and supporting the war against Salem. Clover turned to Ironwood, only to notice Qrow had beaten him to the task, whispering agitatedly into the General’s ear. Winter shot the trio a dark glare, hands sagely clasped together behind her ramrod straight back. 

“I understand, Glynda,” Ironwood finally answered, pointedly ignoring the staring contest raging between his subordinates. “Please make a list of things you’d need, and I will personally see what we can ship to Beacon. We’ve been sending weapons and prosthetics to select individuals, but this can be done on a larger scale.”

“Your help would be appreciated, General, but this isn’t just about Beacon,” the blonde professor countered, arms crossed over her chest. “It’s about Vale, too, there’s no point in rebuilding a brand new and shining Academy amidst a Kingdom in ruin. How do you expect us to recruit the best students to form the next generation of top Huntsmen from a Kingdom that’s falling apart? And don’t even try telling me you’ll send an armada of airships to provide for a whole Kingdom, because there’s no way you can. What we need is to interact with people with the technical know-how from Atlas and the rest of Remnant on a long-term basis, not for you to send a myriad of prosthetic arms raining over our heads. Even in the blinding light of your immeasurable ego, you should be able to see that.”

“She’s got a point, Jimmy...” the shapeshifter drawled, suppressing a yawn.

“And you, Qrow, don’t even get me started on you,” Glynda interrupted, her emerald gaze uncharacteristically agitated. “You left Vale without a warning, Signal had to find a replacement professor last minute. What were you thinking? That just at the time where all our Huntsmen were spreading thin and busy fighting off the increasing surges of Grimm, all we had to worry about was finding a substitute teacher? You know, with that  _ giant dragon _ frozen atop what’s left of our tower for heaven knows how long, that we’d have time to find someone to take up the job the great Qrow Branwen got bored with?”

“I did send a nice note with a little ribbon in the mail...” he defended with a shrug. 

“This isn’t about paperwork, Qrow, it’s about Vale needing you...”

“Never been much of a patriot, Glyn...”

“It’s about  _ me  _ needing you, here in Vale when things are at their lowest. You left when  _ I _ needed  _ you  _ most. As the only one in the Kingdom I can trust in fulfilling Ozpin’s goal and upholding his legacy. You left when I could have used your help carrying the weight of it all. And for what? Does Atlas really need you that much? Atlas is still standing, Vale is only getting back to its knees. Or is Atlas in trouble now because Salem and trouble are just following you like a bad omen? And between us, this new outfit looks outrageous on you. The old one was so much more flattering.”

“But I do believe brown helps bring out the warmth of his eyes,” Ironwood, of all people, stuttered in protest, a blush creeping cheeks mercifully concealed behind his bearded cheeks.

If the line hadn’t chosen that exact instant to freeze, just Qrow’s luck really, the slightest glint of vulnerability in her deep green orbs would have gone unnoticed. Her expression was impenetrable, dangerous, and the wrinkles on her alabaster skin seemed but canals for her tears, tears that could not fall, tears that had long run dry. It became plainly obvious that Glynda and Qrow had a history, one that ran infinitely deeper than mere professional partnership. As the Huntsman nervously fidgeted with some loose thread at the bottom of his pockets, eyes riveted to the tip of his shoes, Clover wondered how much of that history had remained in the past, judging by her sudden interest in his newest garments. 

“It’s not brown, it’s taupe,” Clover and Winter somehow managed to chirp in unison, just Clover’s luck most likely. 

“With all due respect, General,” the Ace Op leader amended with a smirk, earning a wordless scowl from Winter and a wide-eyed stare from the bewildered shapeshifter. 

To the Operative’s meagre consolation, at least was he not alone, for both Atlas and Beacon’s respectable headmasters, alongside the Ice Queen herself or in other terms  _ everyone else in the room _ seemed to blush like a teenager while gawking at Qrow’s new clothes. Several seconds later, the screen unfroze revealing a distinctly unimpressed pout from Glynda Goodwitch, just before the line was cut short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Remember that scene where Weiss asked for opinions on two virtually indistinguishable shades of grey tablecloths? My headcanon is that upscale people in Atlas are really good at distinguishing shades of grey and white because that’s all they ever see in landscape, fashion, architecture, etc. Like how Inuits have hundreds of words for snow. Yes, I know, that’s the silliest and most useless fan theory you’ve ever read. Gotta side with Glynda on this one, Qrow’s outfit looks slightly ridiculous to me and I’m still in the process of getting used to it. This one was very short, next (much longer!) chapter on Saturday/Sunday? Stay warm, safe, and posted xx


	3. General James Ironwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: talking about sex, mentions of trauma, mild swearing
> 
> here comes a longer chapter, hope you enjoy :)

Saying Clover was surprised upon finding Qrow on his very own private rooftop terrace would have been an understatement. At the sight of the familiar Huntsman sitting on his bench, ankle resting over bony knee, arms crossed behind feathery hair, and cape fluttering in the wind, the Ace Op all but dropped his coffee cup, Atlas military issue stark white porcelain shattering onto the cold floor at his feet. 

“Qrow? What are you doing here?”

“Admiring the view. Didn’t know this was your place, but I should have figured you got penthouse quarters seeing how ridiculously high-ranking you are. Careful not to get coffee on those nice little polished shoes of yours.”

“I can clean them again, I do so every other day” the Atlesian shrugs. “But how did you get here? You didn’t break into my quarters, did you?”

“Nope, I got in from  _ there _ ,” he turned toward the edge of the roof, and smoothly let himself drop into the void. 

“Qrow!” Clover yelled, running to a stop at the ledge with deadly precision. 

Watching the graceful arc of Qrow’s plummeting body into the embrace of gravity with his heart in his throat, Clover drew Kingfisher and threw his hook, calculating the speed of its fall to…

With the loudest croak he’d ever heard, a crow soared in the air before his eyes, black feathers outspread against the snowy white background. The bird executed a playful looping before his face, almost teasingly, before landing by his side and shifting back into a recognisable human form. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not that desperate… yet,” Qrow whispered, a dangerously teasing glint in his dilated pupils.

Clover only noticed at that point that his hand had reflexively gripped the shifter’s shoulder. His grasp was firm, knuckles blanching to make sure he was there, he was real, and he wouldn’t fall, would never jump again. The Huntsman’s beating pulse, strong, fast, erratic, thrummed against his palm through the thin envelope of fabric and skin. The younger man’s own heartbeat could only follow in echoing crescendo. As Clover withdrew his hand to retract the uselessly dangling hook of his weapon, both shivered at the sudden chill breeze left in the wake of their lingering of contact. 

“Winter had told me about your shapeshifting, but I’d never seen it in action… it’s impressive to say the least. But you don’t need to show off with me.”

“Says the one who’s always showing off,” the shifter scoffed gently. ”Nah, I just did it to… feel something. Flying as a bird is like breathing, just second nature. You see the landscape beneath and it’s beautiful, but falling as a human just doesn’t compare. You get the adrenaline pumping, and everything else stops mattering.”

“Easy to say when you know you can fly back up again,” the Ace Op chided. “But how does it feel to be alone up there in the sky?”

“Good, because there’s no one to talk to you.”

“Should I… go somewhere else and leave you be alone on my own terrace?”

“Hey, I was just messing with you. Being alone in the sky is peaceful and simple. Everything down there is so small, and one feels insignificant. There’s only so much I can worry about in that tiny bird brain, and the world doesn’t seem so messy and complicated any more, and there’s no one around that my Semblance could possibly hurt.”

Qrow’s eyes traced the horizon line as he talked, oblivious of the soldier scrutinising his expression and gait, seemingly oblivious of everything except the memory of freedom that came too fleetingly with taking flight. 

“Isn’t it too lonely sometimes?”

“Up there? No… well, sometimes, I guess.”

“What, there’s no one to complain to?”

Clover’s irises widened as Qrow gave a brief, heartfelt chuckle.

“It’s also really cold that high up, far away from all human life, and birds don’t really have that much body mass to conserve heat.”

“Speaking of cold, I was going to make myself another hot coffee. Do you want one? I can also bring some plaids up here.”

“Sure… should I clean that up?” the shapeshifter turned to the broken cup on the ground.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that later. The coffee’s still hot, I don’t want you to burn yourself.”

“Because you’ve had enough of hearing me complain?”

The Atlesian captain could never have enough of hearing him, nor could he answer that in all honesty. Not without explaining how he cared about everyone in general, and the Huntsman before him in particular. Clover may wear his heart on his sleeve, or lack thereof, but he didn’t this to be over too fast like one of those countless flings Qrow must have had all over Remnant. No, there were things that must bloom slowly, like snowflakes emerging from fractals of frost. 

“Let me guess, no milk, no sugar, and boiling hot?” the Operative prompted instead.

“Lucky guess.”

“Anyone could have told, really.”

“Now what were you saying about deflecting compliments?”

Clover raised both hands from his hips, breaking his perfect Atlas military poster boy pose. 

“How is that even a compliment?”

“You are very strong with your Semblance inside and outside of combat, and I admire your remarkable control over it. There, happy?”

“Why thank you, this means a lot to me, especially from the great Qrow Branwen,” Clover mused with a mock curtsy. 

“Don’t you start with that too, or I’ll take back all those nice compliments. Now where’s my coffee?”

A minute elapsed before Clover returned, one steaming coffee mug in each strong hand and one thick grey plaid swung over each broad shoulder. They sipped their drinks silently, eyes watching the slow sunset unfolding before them, snowy silver clouds sliding smoothly over the cold winds like skaters on an ice rink. Their silence was comfortable, neither man dared break it, instead treasuring the rare instant of calm before the storm, for gods alone knew what fortune and misfortune had in store for them next. 

Clover couldn’t help noticing how easy things were around Qrow despite the older man’s insistence he’d rather work and stay alone. Maybe it was how naturally their Semblances matched like puzzle pieces, maybe it was the uncomplicated, flirtatiously honest banter. Maybe it was all of the above, and more, that kept Clover drawn to Qrow in that way, inexorably yet painlessly, almost pleasantly. All that despite knowing deep down that given his past, his Semblance, and his responsibilities in the world-threatening conflicts to come, Qrow wouldn’t be the kind of man to seek any kind of relationship. Or at least, not beyond building a collection of tension-filled sexual adventures with high-ranking officials, only leaving behind trails of broken hearts alongside shattered cup shards and other collateral damage.

“Seems like your ‘reunion’ with Headmaster Goodwitch was pretty intense,” the Operative remarked quietly. 

“Huh? Yeah.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything, but in case you need someone to talk to, I’m here and I won’t tell anyone.”

“I guess my secrets are safe with you. After all, you and your team don’t seem to talk about anything else but work, let alone gossip. And it doesn’t look like you have much time between missions and briefing to spend with anyone else.”

“I get it, I don’t have a life, but what about you? It sure seemed like you had an… eventful one.”

“Look, I’m gonna be blunt with you. We’re all mature adults here, so there’s no point in beating around the bush.”

Through layers of blankets snugly wrapped around them, Qrow’s shoulder gently brushed against the Ace Ops, who blinked in surprise but didn’t withdraw from the contact. The Atlesian could practically sense waves of relief wafting off the other man at the prospect to finally be able to talk about adult matters to someone around his age after months of travelling with kids. 

“Glyn, Jimmy, and I have been through a lot when we were part of Oz’s little group. You’ve heard what it’s like with Oz, everything’s a secret, you can’t talk to anyone about what you’re doing or where you’re going if it regards Salem, the Relics, or the Maidens. So we could only rely on each other, talk to each other, share the burden with each other. And there were various ways we’d shared it. Jimmy and I were never really good at talking, we come from different worlds and speak different languages. The tension would build up from the lack of communication over the days, to the breaking point where we’d have no choice but to communicate. So we’d communicate more physically, as in we’d fuck each other senseless until we were sore and forgot about Salem for an instant. He seems all stuck up his ass like that with all those clothing layers and all those belts, but you have no idea what that man can do with his fingers...”

“Sorry for asking,” the Operative rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, “but… does he have… mechanical parts down there or human ones?” 

“Yes.”

“That’s unfair,” Clover faux-pouted, heat rising to his cheeks at the highly improper thought of his superior’s manhood, but the question had been too tempting. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“You’ll have to figure that out by yourself, pretty boy.”

A mischievous grin stretched on Qrow’s lips, a defiant light glinting in his scarlet eyes. 

“He’s my commanding officer.”

“I thought you were good at getting lucky.”

“I would never use my Semblance in such inappropriate ways,” he protested with his best effort to seem offended, before a hearty chuckle escaped them both. “What about Glynda?”

“We’re close friends, but we never did anything, I guess she wasn’t interested…”

“Maybe not in that way? She sure seemed interested in you, earlier today. Not that she can be blamed...”

“Well, we never did anything  _ except _ this once.” 

“ _ Now _ you’re telling.”

“Wanna hear a story?”

“I can tell you’re dying to tell me. Please.”

“It was straight after the fall of Beacon. Ruby was comatose, Yang was critically injured and left with the paramedics. There was nothing I could do for them, and with my bad luck the worst I could’ve done would’ve been staying at their bedsides. I was uninjured, and so were Jimmy and Glyn, but the... absence of Oz felt like a gaping hole in our guts. So the three of us stood wondering what he’d have thought, still not realising how we could’ve messed up this badly. Automatically, my feet took me down the streets, and theirs followed automatically. We weren’t thinking, didn’t have the strength to, didn’t want to. Ashes were still floating through the air from decomposing slain Grimm and burnt Dust. We didn’t dare to look overhead, with the shadow of the frozen giant wyvern still looming in the night. We didn’t dare to look underfoot, as amongst the debris we couldn’t bear to see the eyes of those we failed to save staring back at us. So we just looked nowhere, just looked forward. 

There was this little place I knew, a quaint little bar, or rather this place I thought I knew. The sign over the door hung slanted, half-collapsed, and broken glass littered the floor. Of course no one was there, so we just sat at the bar and helped ourselves with the booze. Drinking makes you numb, makes you empty, but then you come to regret that emptiness. You need to fill it with something, with sensations strong enough to make your mind explode for a while. Glynda’s knees were brushing against mine on those ridiculous bar stools, and Jimmy ran a gloved hand up and down my side. I couldn’t tell if it were his robot one or not, and frankly didn’t care, because all I remember was each touch was electrifying and that was enough. 

Next thing I can recall, she’s kissing me, and we must both be tasting like sweat and enemy blood, but that’s the best kiss I’ve ever had. It must’ve helped I’m drunk as hell, and Jimmy’s hand is down my pants while his other arm reaching for her around me. One of the bar stools breaks a leg at this point maybe, but her Semblance is basically to fix things so we’ll be fine as long as we have each other. 

I’m not sure I remember much in detail after that, so it must’ve gone well. What little details I remember your boss would kill me if he knew I told anyone. So all I can say is you’d expect someone with telekinesis and a riding crop as a weapon to be a good lay, especially with that bust of hers, and the least I can tell you is that she doesn’t disappoint.”

As Clover took a deep breath before reacting, he could swear he could smell decomposing Grimm and nervous tension in the air from Qrow’s vividly realistic narrating tone.

“Least I can tell is you’re such a great storyteller. I see why the kids like you so much.”

“This story is distinctly  _ not  _ for kids. It’s not like it has a happy ending either. It’s just mindless fucking to fill the void, to fill the numbness that replaced the pain. No relationships, no silver linings. Oz, Glyn, Jimmy, and I have been waging this war for decades, keeping it secret for goddamn decades, we don’t do relationships. There’s no time or space for that, we just fuck sometimes to chase down the urge, it’s like scratching an itch.”

The captain nodded wordlessly, a pang of sympathy forming at his chest just where the heavy frustration of being essentially friendzoned sat. The war Qrow, Ironwood, and the others had been fighting for years had only entered the Ace Ops’ lives for months, since the General decided to progressively entrust a small fraction of his inner circle with the late Ozpin’s secrets, and more recently since the shapeshifter and the kids brought the relic to Atlas. Most of Clover’s military career had been defending his Kingdom against some small Grimm packs, chasing down pesky criminals, waving and smiling like a model soldier to appease the crowds in Mantle, to inspire teenagers to enrol in the Academy. He hadn’t lived in times of open warfare, therefore he hadn’t lived life, love, and loss the same way Qrow possibly had. 

“Sorry if I’m boring you,” the Huntsman murmured after several silent seconds. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to, for a change. I hadn’t spoken to anything about that.”

“I’m glad you found that… relieving. I get it must have been a lonely time, that it still is a lonely time. I can’t say I’ve faced anything as extreme as that. You could say I was born lucky, after all.”

“Do you ever stop with the luck jokes?”

“I mean even before I found my Semblance, I was born lucky, and I’m grateful for that. My family is from Atlas, fairly well-to-do. I never had to face famine or war like you did. But my loneliness was different. As soon as I found my Semblance, as an Academy cadet, they fast-tracked me throughout the years, made me change teams every few weeks to months to find the most efficient match. And then after I graduated, the same happened through the ranks of the military. I never really had time to connect with anyone before getting transferred or promoted, and everyone was jealous or resented me. Whenever I tried to make a friend, the next day I became their leader, so they’d start saying behind my back I went up the ranks instead of them because I just got lucky. Which just made me want to work harder to prove my point, to earny my right to be there, and gave me even less time to find friends and partners. I guess you could say it’s lonely at the top,” he chuckled lightly. “So I kind of know how it must feel for you, even though I can’t say I’ve been lonely for reasons nearly as dark.”

“I take it there is no lucky lady in your life then, lucky charm,” Qrow commented jokingly, eliciting a melancholic smile from the younger man.

“I had a few flings back at the Academy, a few experimental adventures but nothing serious. After that there was no time, especially with the no-fraternisation rules in the military.”

“If I were you I’d enjoy my youth and sleep around while you still can, you never know when everything’s going to hell, and Salem unleashes her armies on this dainty little sky city of yours. I’m sure you must have hapless youngsters lining up at your door hoping you’ll give them the time of day.”

“I used to enjoy that, sleeping around as if it were a game, trying my luck with different people… it’s fun and distracting for a while, but you get bored of that, especially if your luck doesn’t change much. Guess you’ll have to believe me on that. Now I just tell myself I shouldn’t be playing games, that I should be honest with others and with myself when I find someone I can connect to. But finding that someone is easier said than done… someone who won’t see me as a military rank and a Semblance is hard to come by in Atlas,” the Operative contemplated. 

“You’re not just a Semblance,” Qrow grunted. “Believe me, I’ve spent my life trying to teach myself that.”

Perhaps unbeknownst to the older warrior, Clover’s breath caught at the impact of those simple words that his ears had been yearning to hear for many a year. 

“Funny that, and here I thought  _ you  _ didn’t want to date anyone because you didn’t want to draw misfortune to them.”

“That’s what I thought when I was younger, when I was still a young, arrogant mess with three teammates constantly trying to get into each other’s pants. I wanted to keep out of that, as much as I could, and there were times fate proved me right… who am I kidding, I’m still trying to figure it out, as we speak, every day, every second. I’m still a mess and a brat, as for my teammates...”

“Qrow, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean... ”

“I know,” the Huntsman swiveled to face Clover, eyes inscrutable, but sincerity painted all over his traits, and right then, right there that was enough, that meant the world and then some. “That’s a story for another time, boy scout.”

Clover’s gaze searched the skyline for the last glimpses sunlight, for those rare rays filtering through the tumultuous sea of clouds. There was a storm brewing before them, they both knew it, with their war against Salem just starting, with fate about to tip just behind the horizon line. The storm was coming, and they must seize their luck, or lack thereof, with their bare hands, with whatever they had. Like lone birds navigating the tempest, sometimes carried away by the winds, sometimes managing to ride the currents, to steer clear, to soar above for ephemeral seconds, always pushing forward. And to push forward, right then they couldn’t look back, couldn’t think of the shadows of the past, only contemplate the future and enjoy the present, the silent calm before the storm. A fickle idea caressed the Ace Op’s mind.

“About Semblances, not to show off or anything, but I wouldn’t mind showing you some tricks I learned along the way for controlling your luck. It would make us more efficient as a team next time we go out there.”

“Still counts as showing off to me,” Qrow teased, palpable relief in his voice at the change of topic. “Why not, after I finish this cup of coffee. I don’t want it to get cold.”

That evening, both of them regained their beds (beds, plural, separately, take note) drained after substantial Aura and Semblance training, bodies and souls too numb to dwell on past scars or future wars. After all, Clover’s dreams were already far too populated with lewd raven-haired shapeshifters deliciously responsive under robot fingers and riding crops for him to worry about anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter likely on Sunday/Monday. Until then, enjoy the new Ep and don't forget to stay warm and posted xx


	4. Huntress Robyn Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I jumped on the bandwagon. Chapter set after Vol 7 Ep 11.  
> Warnings: violence, injury, mentioned character death, swearing, Tyrian Callows (yes he gets his own warning)

“... What?” Clover exhaled at Robyn and Qrow, the pair glaring daggers at him across the confined space of their airship. 

“Aren’t you gonna take those two lovebirds in to your boss at the nest?” Tyrian slurred by the soldier’s side, a smirk against his chapped, battered lips. 

In different circumstances, the Ace Op would have admitted the pun to be quite entertaining, given the bird theme shared by both Huntsmen before him. But at the current stage, too many thoughts flooded his mind, competing and colliding, too loud in the impatient silence that filled their small aircraft. Sweaty palms rubbing the stiff fabric of his uniform at his knees, he resolutely turned away from the others, riveting his eyes onto the symmetrical steel patterns on the floor, the last touch of regularity in their current situation. The serial killer was the one to break the tense quietness:

“Well well, why aren’t you doing something? Are you out of handcuffs, soldier?” his amber gaze flickered to the sturdy bolas binding his wrists together and his stinger to his back. 

“They haven’t done anything...” Clover stuttered in protest. 

“Yet,” Robyn finished. “Not until we know the truth.”

“Did you know?” the shapeshifter added, leaning forward, elbows pressed to his thighs like his feathered namesake peering down inquisitively from its perch. 

The Operative drew a deep breath - why did that matter anyway? Salem was on her way, the General was launching the plan to raise Atlas higher through the clouds. Meanwhile Clover was stuck in a small airship amidst a rising storm, en route for the sky city if it even reached in time without being ripped apart by flying Grimm. And the ragtag crew beside him consisted in a crazed criminal, a politician and Huntress who’d always cordially hated him, and a legendary warrior and his current crush - in such situations, sometimes he wondered where his luck was. 

“Robyn?” Qrow prompted, at which she presented her hand to the Ace Op defiantly. 

The touch was electrical, sparking from their Auras coalescing in faint glimmers around their joined fingers. 

“I knew this plan was a possibility, but I never thought it would come to this,” he said in quick, hushed tones. 

Both Huntsmen tilted their heads simultaneously, with that same terrifying synchrony and connection they’d exhibited in the earlier fight. Both expected to hear more, Clover could tell even while carefully avoiding their eyes.

“Because with all due respect, I think it’s a stupid plan,” he blurted out. 

“ _ What _ ?” the ‘lovebirds’ exclaimed simultaneously as her Aura was flashing green. 

“Doth the pawn dare question his King?” the scorpion Faunus taunted, leaning too close to comfort to the Operative’s shoulder.

Clover reprimanded himself mentally, he wasn’t usually so loose-lipped especially when it concerned expressing discontent toward Ironwood’s plans. With the current more pressing matters, it had slipped his mind that making their target reveal more than intended was a secondary effect of her Semblance. 

“No… I don’t want to question orders, but I had more time to think about this than the rest of you. More than the rest of the Ace Ops and the rest of the military, even. And I don’t think what Ironwood plans and what you want is incompatible.”

A small burning current stung his palm holding Robyn’s at that as their hands flickered red, and he clarified precipitantly.

“Miss Hill’s plan of protecting Mantle, I mean,” he looked at each of his three interlocutors in turn. “The General doesn’t need Huntsmen to raise Atlas, the cold and thin atmosphere should take care of any air-based Grimm. He’s there, Winter and Penny are there, my team is there, alongside the whole Academy, and that should be more than enough to neutralise any intruders currently in Atlas. He needs people like engineers, not like us, not like me. No, where I’m needed is defending our Kingdom, down there,” he gestured down at Mantle through the narrow plane window. 

“Is that so?” the Huntress prompted, releasing his hand to cross her arms against her chest, a hint of defiance never leaving her expression as a clear testimony to their history as frenemies dating back to their Academy years. “So what’s the plan?”

“You have to find Pietro Polendina and tell him to broadcast to all communications. Tell all Huntsmen and military that they can stay with us in Mantle, stand for our Kingdom, fend off Salem’s forces, and go down in history as heroes. Tell them we give them the choice to stay or leave for Atlas, and that their choice will be respected and understood either way. Because I know if they stay, it means they may lose contact with Atlas, with their families, with their loved ones. That they may never see them again, but… they’ll be remembered. And their legends will live on.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to go into politics, lucky charm? That sounded like a nice pep talk,” Qrow noted wryly while Robyn reluctantly nodded. “I could almost have eaten up your bullshit.”

“Qrow, listen,” the soldier pleaded. “That applies to you too. Your nieces are up there, and opposing the General means they must be in trouble… if you want to go find them, try talking to Ironwood, I understand. If you go back up there, know that is has been the greatest honour and pleasure for me to fight by your side, and I just cannot express how much I… I...”

He struggled to find his words, to release the pent up emotions pounding within him, weighing him down, pulling him up, threatening to break his mind apart. To tell Qrow how he really felt, how for a fleeting instant he thought they could make it work, in that brief calm before the storm. How they were running out of time, running into the chaos, into the unknown, and how all he needed was someone to remember, even if not reciprocate, that his feelings ever existed, that he ever existed before the tempest swept him away...

“Cut the crap, Clover,” the politician hissed. “Don’t try to force him to decide, let’s see what he really wants.” 

She firmly grasped Qrow’s hand at those words, earning a surprised, admiring glance from the Huntsman. 

“Jealous, aren’t we?” Tyrian sneered. “Worried he’ll steal your precious birdie? Do not worry Miss Hill, my Queen has much more important issues in store for you than the love of your little crow.”

“Shut up, Tyrian,” the shapeshifter threatened, his free hand grasping the hilt of his weapon as Robyn reached for hers, leaving the Ace Op to look over the fierce battle couple with wide eyes.

“The truth hurts to hear?” the Faunus crooned, mimicking an offended tone. 

“You know what? Maybe you’re right,” Robyn said. 

With deadly speed and precision, she switched the aim of her weapon to the ship’s cargo bay, sending a small explosive dart that knocked the latch open, and jumped out. Dragging by his hand she still held, Qrow tumbled along held into the cold dark air.

“The lovebirds flew away,” the criminal commented, his lopsided grin widening. “Wanna try catching them, fisherman?”

The Atlesian captain made sure to whack the Faunus in the back of the head with his fishing rod before he followed the two Huntsmen into the dead of night. 

Ordinarily, the floating feeling of freefall cleared Clover’s mind, sending exhilarating adrenaline flowing through his body and soul as wind whipped through his hair and city lights flew past his eyes. Qrow had been right about this, that was just one more thing he had been right about. But in the current instant, the soldier merely executed his landing strategy like a well-oiled robot mindlessly going through a rehearsed choreography. As he tossed Kingfisher’s hook successively onto hanging cables, balconies, and bridges to swing himself downward and slow his fall, he tried to juggle with too many thoughts and worries - retrieve Qrow and Robyn (bust mostly Qrow, make sure Qrow was safe, didn’t get hurt, a part of his brain played on an endless loop), locate Pietro, lock the airship containing Tyrian automatically from his Scroll and make sure it reached Atlas…

Unexpectedly, that last one was abruptly… compromised. Clover could only stare as he landed on a rooftop at the out of reach ship being attacked by an onslaught of Pteryx Grimm, causing it to crash onto a nearby building in a fiery explosion followed by a flutter of angry red wings. The Ace Op silently cursed his Semblance for not being able to act at such long distances from him. Retracting the rope, he threw his hook toward the escaping Grimm. Slashing upward, the sharp end lacerated a wing’s membrane, the rope wrapping around a snarling beak. With a powerful, practised tug, the creature was sent crashing into one of its neighbours, taking out two birds with one lucky shot. As a third dived down for him, he held out the pole part of his weapon like a staff, attempting to fend off the creature while checking the location of his partner from his Scroll… All in all, the worries and Grimm left him too distraught to notice heavy footsteps behind him.

“Your aircraft landing caused quite some noise, that made it much easier to find you. Too bad the captain had to abandon ship, though.”

“Who are you?”

He turned to the source of the booming voice, to face the towering silhouette heavily ascending the rusted steel staircase that led to the roof. 

“At least I don’t need to ask you the same question,” the man simply replied, tilting his head toward a nearby promotion billboard for Atlas Academy displaying a photo of the smiling Ace Op leader mid-military salute. 

“... Hazel Rainhart,” Clover deciphered from his Scroll, using facial recognition on the other man to scan through the Atlas confidential criminal data-base. “Formerly wanted in Mistral. Believed deceased.”

“You Atlesians think you know everything, with your fancy technology, but there is so much you don’t know,” Hazel commented evenly. 

“Mr. Rainhart, you are under arr-”

Before he could finish, the Pteryx Clover had been fighting hissed just behind him, causing every hair to stand on end down his spine. The Operative swapped his grip on Kingfisher to ward off the sharp beak diving toward his back. He sank the bladed end into the monster’s exposed throat, leaving it to dissolve into a cloud of sooty particles. The distraction allowed Hazel to land a punch at his shoulder, the impact knocking him slightly off balance. But he recovered swiftly, redirecting his momentum in one smooth gesture to swing his hook upward at his new opponent’s towering stature. The rope wrapped around the man’s bulky forearm, the Ace Op flicked a switch to retract the fishing line, tripping the other man into a crouch. 

With a shrug from his muscular shoulders, Hazel released the soldier’s weapon, raising his balled fists before him in clear challenge. The Atlesian leader deduced the larger man’s primary goal had been keeping Clover out of the way to make Tyrian’s escape and mission easier, whatever that mission may be and whatever he planned to do to Robyn and Qrow - that Clover barely dared imagine. But why exactly would this man act this way left the Ace Op baffled.

“Why are you doing that?” Clover asked. “The Grimm are mind-controlled, Tyrian’s demented, and Watts wants revenge against the General. But what’s your excuse? Why are you siding with Salem? With the Grimm?”

“Ozpin took everything away from me!” Hazel bellowed, his expression changing suddenly.

Fierce yellow light crackled against his irate irises as he drew sharp golden crystals from his belt to plant into his bare arms. Raising his weapon as a spear to block a sparking fist overhead, Clover sidestepped a foot aimed at his stomach, bringing him dangerously close to the edge of the roof. In one flowing motion as he dodged, he spun around to point the bladed end of his weapon at Hazel’s back, his stab barely glancing off his enemy’s emerald-tinted Aura. 

The soldier immediately prepared for a new flurry of slashes and thrusts. Kingfisher danced with the hook attached to its end like a spear head, a water dance, ever flowing, skillfully deflecting and swiftly striking at the enemy’s weak points to disable him. But Hazel was relentless, never slowing down as his Aura was progressively hacked away. The Ace Op searched for an opening, and everything was an opening, and nothing was, for all of exposed the inches of the colossal man before him seemed impervious to pain. 

Spinning his weapon in both hands before his face to block an uppercut, Clover flexed his wrist to toss the weapon, still whirling at lethal speed when the blunt end hit his opponent in the chin, knocking him backwards and almost tripping over the ledge. The Atlesian ran up to regain his weapon, but the brawler had grabbed the other end, creating a tug of war Clover knew he couldn’t win. Hazel’s eyes narrowed in focus, and golden lightning sparked away from his fists, unyieldingly gripping Kingfisher, travelling down the shaft of the weapon and straight into the Operative’s hands. 

“Ozpin may have taken everyone from you and left you alone,” he shouted, voice cracking under the continuous impact of the Dust-based attack. “But you don’t have to be alone. In Atlas we welcome those who seek a place to call home, a Kingdom to live and fight for. Nowadays anyone can join the army and raise through the ranks, provided they have the skill, my team is living proof of that. And you’re strong, you’ve got skills aplenty, and we need every man we can get. It’s not too late for you, and you are not alone.”

Face distorted by effort upon directing his lightning into Kingfisher, Hazel lifted a surprised brow. That was the diversion Clover needed as he reached for his horseshoe at his belt and tossed it at his opponent like a boomerang. The metal trinket attracted the lightning, deviating it from the fishing rod. The emerald-clad man lifted an incredulous hand to catch the projectile a hair’s breadth from his face - allowing the Atlesian to stab him in the abdomen with the pole part of his weapon. 

The colossal force of Salem’s henchman stumbling over the roof’s edge and falling back yanked Clover forward suddenly. As he struggled to secure his footing, he noticed, too late, that his adversary’s veins flashed purple with gravity Dust as he bounced back to the rooftop and spun Kingfisher around with his full strength, knocking Clover off the ledge. The captain’s heart missed a beat, and time stopped. 

When time started again, he sucked in a deep breath. Then another one. It was painful, but he was alive. It was painful  _ because  _ he was alive. His body was dangling off the ledge by one arm still holding onto Kingfisher. Several floors of black-as-night vacuum lay beneath his feet, and he forced himself not to look down but upward to Hazel’s unflinching gaze.

“No, I am not alone,” the brawler said, supporting the weight of Kingfisher and its wielder with one arm. “I have a family now. Thanks to Salem, I found a family again. You would never understand, little soldier, you don’t know how it feels: love, loss, and finding love again. Your military teammates aren’t even friends, let alone family. Tell me, look down, what do you see?”

“Mantle is burning, torn down by the Grimm,” he called out without needing to look. “And Salem sent them all.”

“Em would say it’s almost sad, and she keeps saying it’s beautiful in its own way. Nature reclaiming her birthright against haughty humans who thought they could conquer her with their technology. Months ago I didn’t know Em, and now she’s like the younger sister I once had, like the younger sister I once lost.”

Hazel was wrong, the Ace Op leader did know love. And at that very instant, with nothing but emptiness and chaos underfoot, that was all he knew, all he had to stand on. For a little birdie told him, and that last shrapnel of certainty was all he needed to fight back. He pressed a switch against the hilt of his weapon. The rope unraveled, leaving the hook to dangle down into Clover’s reach. With his free hand, he seized the cable and twirled it, sending the hook to spin around rapidly expanding orbits. Tracing a complex trajectory his enemy could barely track, the curved bladed tip latched onto the crystals impaled in Hazel’s left bicep. The brawler gasped soundlessly, his entire colossal form spasming as he released his grip on the fishing rod. In one fell swoop, Clover swung his weapon, the end of the shaft hitting a falling violet Dust shard and sending it flying into a wall. The resulting small detonation propelled him back to the rooftop with the help of his grappling hook. 

Locking the metal end onto the rope, he threw his weapon in a sweeping arc like a lasso, catching his opponent around the shoulders. Hazel’s eyes blazed with fury as the Operative shortened the fishing line, quickly closing in toward his opponent. In a series of swift, surgically precise strikes, Kingfisher’s hilt hit the larger man behind the knee, in the sternum, at the throat. Falling down on all fours, Salem’s servant looked up just in time to see Clover’s fist reared, ready to throw Kingfisher like a javelin at his face at arm’s length distance. 

With one last gravity Dust fragment in one arm, Hazel jumped several feet into the air and brought his fist down as he landed, the Dust-powered punch sending an overwhelming violet shockwave that rippled through the whole building beneath their feet. Clover sank the tip of his weapon into the concrete underfoot not to get blown away - before the entire structure collapsed. 

Blinding purple flashed before his eyes as the world crumbled under him, around him. As he fell, Clover narrowly missed plummeting debris, concrete, steel, glass, everything spinning dizzyingly before his eyes until up and down melded into a dirty black mass. He landed onto the hard black street, the wind knocked out of his lungs, ears still ringing and balance unsteady. His Aura was still active, just barely. In a handful of too slow seconds, he lurched back to his feet, attempting to ascertain the situation. Hazel was nowhere to be seen, any remaining shreds of walls too puny to conceal the large man. He had to send out a distress call to Pietro, locate Qrow, make sure Tyrian hadn’t gotten to him first and hurt him, just a scratch of that stinger would have been enough to…

The roar of a Saber Grimm all but caressed his distraught eardrums, before an impact caught him at the chest and sent him flying out of the monster’s path and into a nearby wall. Strong arms pinned him down, keeping him out of harm’s way as familiar crimson eyes stared straight into his. 

“Qrow...” he whispered, his foreheads almost touching his saviour’s. “You look terrible.”

The shapeshifter’s attire was torn and tattered, his hair unkempt and littered with debris from the massive explosion. But the view from this up close, allowing Clover to see each speck of cinder and ash against Qrow’s alabaster skin, like an impressionistic painting, wasn’t half bad. The Huntsman shrugged, extending his scythe behind his back with one hand to cleave the Saber cleanly in two. He didn’t even turn to look as the Grimm crumbled to ashes. 

“Why thank you, Clover.”

Qrow had never called him by his name, the captain realised blankly. The Huntsman had always liked to play the nickname game, something else he had in common with Robyn, and hearing him mouth those simple syllables in the urgency of the moment felt… different. The pale, strong fingers still gripped his bare bicep, and the Ace Op reflexively returned the embrace. His metal rings, fresh against Clover’s sweating skin, anchored him like a lifeline amidst the chaos. Their foreheads almost touched, Qrow’s pants ghosting softly, too softly against the younger man’s skin. 

Clover needed more, needed to move even closer, needed to make sure he could trust his senses, that Qrow was truly there, with him, and nothing else was more important. The tension lifted from his shoulders, even if for an instant, and the numbness left felt almost blissful, like a void begging to be filled with desire. The Operative’s arm snaked around the small of Qrow’s back, pulling him closer. Leaving Harbinger impaled into the ground behind him, the shapeshifter reached his hand up to caress the chiselled column of Clover’s neck, travelling upward to cup his chin. Breathlessly, aqua eyes darted between flushed lips and mesmerising blood-red irises... 

For a split second, Clover felt the other man tense up between his arms, a threatening glimmer around his shoulder blade before a gunshot echoed. Qrow shrieked in pain, hand grasping his injured shoulder as his Aura splintered into a million crimson sparks. Instantly, the Ace Op pushed his partner behind him, shielding him with his body. 

“Ooooh, fascinating,” a sickeningly recognisable voice cackled madly, sending shivers down their spines.

With a familiar whirring of cogs, Tyrian experimentally converted Harbinger back from gun to scythe form, raising the weapon high overhead to slash down at Clover and Qrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Tyrian with Harbinger is a scythe to behold… I mean, sight. Dammit *sigh*  
> I couldn’t stop myself from writing about the latest episode, so I wrote the beginning to match the end of Ep 11 and edited the fight scene I’d written before to make it work with that beginning. That episode was awesome character-wise, but Ironwood’s plan… you all know what I think about Ironwood’s plan. Next chapter (I might have messed up the whole 5+1 gimmick due to my inability to stick to my own plan. We’ll see.) on Friday/Saturday. Till then, stay safe and posted xx


	5. Headmaster Ozpin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is soooo long, I’ve given up on any form of planning.  
> Warnings: violence, blood, injuries, mention of character death and trauma, swearing, Tyrian getting his own warning, there’s an Avengers reference that’s so painfully obvious it deserves its own warning too.

In a heartbeat, Clover had already raised Kingfisher, blocking the scythe’s powerful swipe. Tyrian grinned maniacally as the two large weapons collided, sparks flying as the blade slipped against the fishing rod. Never breaking furious eye contact, both opponents kept pushing, hoping to manoeuvre the point of collision between the weapons in their favour. The Faunus’s smile broke as his feet suddenly slipped on the rubble-covered ground, as per the Ace Op’s good fortune. As per the Ace Op’s skill, he sensed the opportunity and seized it immediately, redirecting Harbinger to sink the heavy curved blade into the ground. He jammed the tip of his weapon into the scythe’s clockwork, preventing the assassin to collapsing it into a smaller form as Clover pounced forward to close the distance. 

The soldier propelled himself with his weapon’s elasticity, narrowly dodging the deadly wrist blades slashing from either side. He landed flexibly onto the hilt of Harbinger, winking at a surprised Tyrian before jumping again in an acrobatic mid-air flip in an attempt to evade a volley of bullets. After his somersault, Clover’s strong ankles were wrapped around his opponent’s neck, forcing the criminal into a crouch as his hands deftly looped his fishing line around his enemy’s neck. 

“How… dare you… break my new toys?” the Faunus hissed, reaching for Harbinger as his Aura crackled away, his words interspersed by noisy pants and coughs against the rope choking him. 

The loud commotion from Salem’s dramatic servant could almost have drawn out the sound of metal slipping against metal - almost. The sound of Tyrian’s stinger stretching, ready to sprout out like a loaded spring at Clover’s exposed back. The Ace Op turned tentatively, only to see both Qrow’s hands wrapped around the prosthetic appendage, keeping it mere inches from the Atlesian captain’s skin. A pang of worry bubbled up Clover’s throat at the sight of the wiry but toned arms wrestling the lethal tail. Any slightest graze from the tip would be fatal against the shapeshifter’s shattered Aura, against pale alabaster skin. 

“Watch out!” someone called out. 

Before the Operative realised the warning was addressed at him, a wave of purple light hit him squarely in the chest, sending him flying off Tyrian and into the nearest wall. The last sliver of his Aura broke down with that, leaf green light glimmering off his collapsed form. Everything was spinning, everything was painful, every smallest scratch, every smallest shard of debris stinging like an army of needles against his skin. The world was painful, too painful, and a crimson-tinted veil of blood and sweat trickled from his forehead into his eyes. When he roughly wiped his brow with the bare back of his hand, he saw Hazel raising his fist again, clothing tattered and eyes ablaze, preparing for another gravity-Dust enhanced punch. Another similar punch, that he knew he wouldn’t survive this time…

A familiar sound - the slam of a rope against wood - approaching footsteps. A small, glimmering dart sliced through the air, finding its target in Hazel’s lifted fist. Robyn. Clover couldn’t be sure where she had been, where she came from. But she kept firing at the brawler as she advanced, each boot meeting the mangled ground with increasing determination. Hazel simply tanked the gravity Dust arrows, reveling in his increased power as more purple sparks travelled down his torso and arms. 

“He absorbs Dust to enhance his strength,” Clover warned her weakly, still stunned. “He doesn’t feel pain.”

“Then let him taste some of his own medicine,” she replied.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the Huntress’s smirk as she flipped a switch on her weapon, causing the darts to levitate - and Hazel alongside them. Eyes widened with panic, the brawler attempted to shoot a purple shockwave toward her, before a whisk of icy wind sent him floating away like a balloonist lost amidst a storm. Robyn aimed an explosive arrow at the half torn down wall behind him, its collapse sapping away the meagre remainders of larger man’s Aura. As he cried out from beneath a blanket of rubble, a flock of Nevermores descended onto his fallen form. 

The politician had already switched her sights to Tyrian, searching for an opening as the Faunus painstakingly wrestled Qrow. Even without his Aura or his weapon, the Huntsman was relentless, closing in too fast for his enemy to register, too close for his weapons to remain effective. He landed mean punches after punches, ringed fingers meeting skin and muscle with sickening _thuds_ , before waltzing away just as swiftly, feet sending off a rain of concrete rubble into the serial killer’s confused eyes. But their proximity and Qrow’s vulnerability prevented Robyn from taking a clean shot, forcing her to pounce into melee combat. 

Her wing-shaped blades slashed, blocked, danced, colliding and brushing past the Queen’s Servants. She released an arrow point blank at his face, only for his wrist blade to slice it open from tip to fletching with a bemused shrug. As Tyrian leant dangerously backwards to evade a new volley of attacks, she tossed her bird flying toward Qrow, who lifted the metal avian to shield himself from a blow of the deadly stinger. He returned the favour, throwing the weapon to rebound against the ground under Tyrian’s arms and straight into her hands. She slashed downward at his face, forcing him to cross both his curved blades over his head to block. The Faunus giggled, eyes turning purple. 

As she gasped, Clover’s hook flew toward her, lassoing her arm and dragging her away, the stinger only slicing air where she stood a second ago. Knocked off balance by the momentum of his prosthetic, he tumbled to the ground and spun on his hands, one of his boots kicking Qrow down before he could attack. The Huntsman swore under his breath, wiping a tendril of blood off his chin with difficulty as his valid arm held his injured shoulder in place. The assassin pranced around his fallen victims like a toddler in a toy shop, picking up Harbinger on his way as an afterthought and lifting it high over his head like an executioner. Clover’s fingers darted to his pin, praying for the Faunus not to pick either of the others, they were two important, Robyn was the spark that would ignite Mantle to fight against Salem, and Qrow...

“Seems like your luck’s run out,” he smirked at the Ace Op leader, before swinging down at him. 

In infinite fractions of a second, Clover’s life flashes before his eyes, bright whites, dull greys, and sharp black against the dark red of his shut eyelids. Voices, thoughts, the wheels of fortune turning like a weathervane in the wind, round and round, too fast, too -

 _Tink_. 

His good fortune spun back to him, and Tyrian stared incredulously as the paper-thin tip of the scythe rebounded ineffectively against the silvery four-leafed badge on the Operative’s lapel. 

_Tink_. 

The Faunus swiped down again as if to check it was really true, to check Clover’s luck was really that good. Little did he know, Clover’s luck could not be _that_ good, especially with his Aura down, and Qrow broadcasting his misfortune targeted at Tyrian may have something to do with that second missed swingl. The serial killer chortled, briefly, heartily, terrifyingly. He may be demented, but he was also impatient, lethally so. 

“Enough,” he spat, tilting Harbinger horizontally to sever Clover’s neck from his body. 

Behind closed eyelids, Clover heard shots from Robyn’s shotbow, successively deflected by the turning and twisting and metal stinger. 

“That _tickles_ ,” Tyrian bemoaned, having learnt his lesson not to catch any of her projectiles. 

Barely audible through the storm of Dust arrows colliding with the scorpion tail, drifting to Clover’s ears was a flutter of (black) feathers, a clang of (shiny) metal. 

Salem’s crazed henchman looked overhead before his detached stinger fell before him, dropped by a black bird’s talons. Clover grabbed the prosthetic and raised it like a sword to block Harbinger. His forces dwindling away, he felt the appendage slip away from his hands as purple venom spilled toward his fingers. He blinked, and Qrow towered over him, spinning out the most elaborate and beautiful flourish he’d ever seen with the stinger in his valid hand to parry Tyrian’s sputter of bullets. 

“Lucky you,” he winked at the Ace Op, before throwing the stinger like a javelin straight through the assassin’s chest. 

Harbinger fell with a loud clang as Tyrian collapsed, whining weakly. Robyn shot a golden dart, rebounding for effect against Clover’s metal pin before lodging itself into the Faunus’s neck, knocking him out with an electric shock. 

“What was _that_ for?” the Operative protested. 

“Making sure he wouldn’t dodge,” she shrugged, running to Qrow’s side as he keeled over with a grunt, cradling his wounded limb. 

“Turning into a bird and back couldn’t have been good for that hurt shoulder,” Clover judged, inspecting the injury with careful hands. 

“Pietro should be here any time,” Robyn replied, eyes riveted on her Scroll while her other arm supported Qrow, his face buried into her shoulder, slightly too close to her ample bosom to Clover’s liking. That lighter, almost childish thought failed to alleviate the mixture of relief and concern filling the Ace Op’s mind.

“I’m glad you actually followed the plan and called him... thanks,” the soldier said. 

“I’m defending Mantle, just doing my job,” she snapped back. 

“I couldn’t be sure, seeing that stunt you pulled in the airship. What were you thinking? Qrow’s nieces...”

“Are safe. Ironwood can be harsh, but he won’t hurt them. And your obedient little soldiers up there wouldn’t touch a hair off them without the General’s orders.”

“They better not, least they wanna get punched in the...” Qrow cut himself off with a fit of couch, crimson blood splattering onto the littered ground. 

“Your nieces can fend for themselves, I’ve seen that,” she commented to the shifter. “Besides, Clover, this is a war, and someone had to take the hard shots, to make sure the best Huntsmen are here by our side when we need them most.”

“He got hurt!” Clover retorted, lifting his hands with anger. 

“Because you left after us and let a dangerous criminal break free! What were _you_ thinking?” she echoed, similarly irate. 

“I also had some hard shots to take, I...”

Had to protect Qrow. Had to give it all for him. Would have sacrificed my kingdom for him… no that didn’t sound right, too desperate, Qrow would probably never really like him back… Still, would have done it again a thousand times…

“He had a lot of hard shots to take today, in case you hadn’t noticed,” the shapeshifter cut in, blood-red eyes gleaming warily. “Everyone makes mistakes, no one can be trusted all the way through, I thought you’d know that. Besides, if it weren’t for his plan, there’d be no hope left for Mantle as we speak. Not that Mantle’s out of trouble yet, far from that...”

“Worrying so much makes you age faster, Qrow. What will you do when you’re my age?” cackled an elderly voice. 

“Maria. Glad to see you,” the scythe-wielder greeted, sloppily waving at the Grimm Reaper and Pietro following at her heels.

“Pietro, long time no see,” Clover sighed, wrapping the older man into a brief, warm embrace. “Qrow’s shoulder here needs some help, could you have a look at that after...”

“You’re Ruby’s uncle, right? You two look just the same. Let me see what I can do about that wound. Maria, could you start the broadcast? I’ve set it up on my scroll to all Huntsmen and military scrolls save for General Ironwood and Specialist Schnee. I’ve also disabled the automatic override so manual piloting will be possible, should they want to fly army ships back to Mantle.”

He threw his Scroll at the old lady, whose goggles tilted as she caught to open the device. A set of glimmering holograms appeared before their eyes. Reluctantly, Robyn and Clover reached for each other’s hands for the broadcast. 

“Smile for the camera?” Maria chided gently as she dusted Robyn’s scarf and straightened Clover’s pin, that had suffered enough through the night. 

Both shook their heads vigorously, forcing the aging Huntress to adjust their garments again for the cameras. The Atlesian captain straightened his shoulders, staring straight ahead as he began his message.

“Huntsmen. Specialists. Students. The General came to you with the truth. I come to you with a choice.”

“The airships that took you back to Atlas, or that you’re still in, are momentarily programmed to take you back to Mantle, if you so choose,” Robyn continued. 

“Salem is on her way. You can choose to stand your ground and fight, right here, right now, down in Mantle. You can choose to fight so that you Kingdom stands tall and proud, stands as the greatest Kingdom, Mantle and Atlas. You can choose to fight, to try to make it through the night so that your children have a chance of waking to a world without Grimm, a world without fear tomorrow.”

“Or… you can choose to keep your family close,” the politician announced, staring down fleetingly. “To stay by their side, holding their hands as the General saves those he can save by raising Atlas through the atmosphere where the Grimm can’t reach, through the blackness of space, through the unknown. Either way… I would understand. We would understand.”

“In better times, the General would have understood,” Qrow intervened, painstakingly grabbing Robyn’s free hand with his fingers from his injured side, as his other arm rounded Clover’s shoulders for support. “Whatever path you take, he would’ve respected it, because whichever destiny you choose, this night will go down in your history, in our history.”

In the growing darkness, both of Robyn’s hands glimmered green. 

* * *

“Qrow!” Clover’s voice called out from afar, too far through the thickening black fog in the shapeshifter’s head. 

In the darkness, there was too much red, shining like light, stinging his eyes. Too much red on his hands, on his bloodstained shirt, even his tattered cape looked redder… and blurrier… why was it spinning like that? Why was the world waltzing around like a crazed merry-go-round?

“What happened to all the bones in his arm?” Pietro uttered worriedly, alongside a string of muttered medical jargon the shapeshifter’s addled mind could not distinguish. 

“Hold on, Qrow, hold on… dammit...” Robyn was swearing from far away, bright blasts of light flashing in the distance as her arrows decimated the ranks Salem’s army, slowly, too slowly. 

“Qrow, can you hear me?” came the Atlesian captain’s increasingly distant voice through the scarlet veil of pain and the blank numbness of blood loss. “Qrow, stay with us...”

The Ace Op’s hands were strong, soft, still like an anchor at the nape of his neck, gentle thumbs rubbing concerned circles against the feathery hair. The last thing Qrow remembered before the nothingness claimed him was the shape Clover’s lips speaking his name. 

* * *

The first time the shapeshifter awoke, Clover sat at his side on a modern, uncomfortable white chair by his hospital bed. Aqua eyes were peering down his Scroll intently at some ridiculously detailed fine print mission brief. One of the Operative’s hands held the electronic device, while the other had its fingers distractedly intertwined with Qrow’s, hoping to feel warming skin, stirring digits. 

“Didn’t know the great Clover Ebi wore old man glasses,” the Huntsman drawled, breaking the Ace Op’s focus away from his paperwork.

“I only wear them when I have to read a lot,” he replied, pushing the small round spectacles up his nose as heat ascended to his cheeks. “You have no idea how many mission reports I have to go through after the other night.”

“They’re cute,” Qrow teased just as Clover was thinking he couldn’t possibly be blushing harder. “How long was I...”

“Sedated while they rearranged all the bones in your shoulder and arm that your injury and shapeshifting messed up? Two days. Don’t worry, you won’t leave the hospital with anything more than an arm cast.”

“Are we in Atlas?” His eyes scanned the stiff white hospital bed sheets and the futuristic, colorless setting around them, the distant chorus of beeping machines caressing their ears.

“What’s left of it. That is, this medical ship, and a small command ship for the Council. Your nieces are on that ship with their team and Robyn. They’re safe,” he answered the silent question the Huntsman’s eyes added.

“And Tyrian?” 

“In a critical condition, the General ordered our medics to keep him alive in hope to interrogate him. Hazel managed to run away.”

“The General? How’s Jimmy? And the Relics?”

Clover blinked slowly, ordering his thoughts carefully around all the new developments.

“The staff is with General Schnee. It was used to launch the communication tower out of the atmosphere.”

The Huntsman’s dark brows furrowed with a twinge of annoyance at having to guess all that was left unsaid...

“So... communications are back on?”

“Yes, all over Remnant.”

Qrow sighed heavily, feeling the Ace Op’s warm fingers tightening around his, but too wary to remove his hand or squeeze back.

“This is a lot to take in… I think I need a nap before I can think clearly.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Don’t you have a Kingdom to save or something?”

“Right now my Kingdom wants me to go through all of this paperwork,” he gestured to his Scroll, “and I can do it here where it’s peaceful and quiet.”

The shapeshifter grumbled unintelligibly, eyelids already sliding close under the weight of gravity.

* * *

“Why didn’t you tell me!?”

Clover jolted awake at Qrow’s interjection. He must have fallen asleep while reading through pages and pages of reports, glasses pinned onto the lapels of his shirt. He turned to see the Huntsman from his hospital bed, holding the Ace Op’s scroll in hand while his eyes stared in disbelief at the classified documents the device contained. 

“What are you talking about?” the Specialist mumbled, voice trembling at the dire possibilities. 

Was it about James, his sacrifice, his fate? About the Winter Maiden? About team JNOR?

“I was wondering why you had so much paperwork to fill in for a Kingdom that’s not even standing anymore. Turns out, you’re stepping down from leadership of the Ace Ops.”

It wasn’t a question. The lengthy forms he filled to that purpose testified as much. Amongst everything Qrow could be asking, why did this bother him so much? Clover ran nervous fingers through his hair.

“After the stunt I pulled with Robyn, you, and Pietro, it’d only be a matter of time before the General caught up and had me demoted or court-martialed for insubordination. So I resigned before they could fire me.”

“Why am I feeling like you’re not still telling me everything?” Qrow’s russet eyes were impenetrable, burning like embers in the sun. 

“Because I haven’t told you everything, I never have, I’m used to everything being classified and I never had the opportunity to tell you. Still, that’s not an excuse, and I’m sorry,” he admitted bashfully, avoiding the shifter’s glare. 

“And I’m sorry for taking your Scroll while you were sleeping. And for not trusting you. We’re even now, so what do you have to tell me?”

“I spoke with the General in private, so this isn’t official yet. But after the Staff of Creation was used to launch the Colosseum, Ruby and the rest of your kids wanted to take it to Vacuo in their journey to collect all of the relics. Of course, Winter wouldn’t hand a band of newly minted Huntsmen and you of all people with our Kingdom’s most prized possession. So she entrusted me with escorting the kids and you to Vacuo and guard over the Atlas relic.”

Qrow’s traits visibly relaxed, as if expecting bad news that never materialised. 

“That’s it? That was what you wouldn’t tell me?”

The Ace Op was at a loss for words - there was so much more he had to tell the Huntsman, so much more still secret, still pent up within him, he didn’t know where to start. But they had so much time before them now, with their upcoming trip to Vacuo… if Qrow would still listen to him at that point if he didn’t mess up in this very moment. 

“I’ll travel with you as an independent Huntsman mandated by Atlas… if you’ll have me. If you trust me.”

“Look, boy scout, I want to trust you, I really do. It looks like you’ve been nothing but supportive to me, to the kids, even to Robyn even though she hates you.”

“But it’s hard,” Clover intervened, speaking the feelings that were too painful to voice for Qrow. “I understand. I’m not saying I can relate, but I can understand, and I beg you to take your time before you answer. Salem’s gone, gods know where, and the kids’ injuries and yours still need to heal before you head off. You have time to decide.”

“When you jumped from the airship after Robyn and I, what were you thinking?” the shapeshifter wondered, considering his options on whether he should trust the ex-soldier. “Why didn’t you take Tyrian to a closed cell first?”

“Salem and her Grimm could still break him free if she wanted to, and my place was in Mantle protecting the people, not guarding the door to a jail cell. Besides, you were more important. Both Robyn and you. You were always more important.”

“Why? I’m nothing but misfortune, and Robyn can defend herself.”

“You’re more than that. You’re both symbols, Huntsmen whose mere names lift people’s hearts, inspire them to follow in your footsteps, to fight for Mantle, to fight for what’s good.”

He wondered if the older man believed him, if Clover even believed himself. 

“Do you know why Tyrian decided to pick on you, when he could have killed me or Robyn? Aren’t you usually the lucky one?”

“I tried to project my Semblance to protect both of you. It may have worked,” he admitted.

“And you want me to trust you, when you have no regard for protecting yourself?”

“I trusted you to protect me, and you did,” the Atlesian remarked wryly, for a world in which he couldn’t trust Qrow didn’t really sound like a world worth living in, because Clover was pathetic like that. 

“How can you trust me? Not the legend, not the symbol, just me? With my uncontrollable Semblance, and my past, and all of my issues and my trust issues?”

Clover reached out again for Qrow’s arm, and the shapeshifter looked away toward the window, desaturated light caressing his chiselled jaw, his salt and pepper hair. 

“It’s not just about me,” Clover ventured. “It’s about everyone, isn’t it? It’s hard for you to trust anyone, because you’ve been betrayed each time?”

The older Huntsman only nodded. 

“Is it about… Professor Ozpin?”

“Oz was… everything to me. Before I met him, I grew up outside the kingdoms, with a nomadic tribe. Our main worry was whether we’d find food for the next morning, rather than if we’d give some food to the neighbour would he return the favour the following week. We couldn’t trust each other, everything was too uncertain, ever changing, and anyone could backstab you if that meant they could survive one more day. Then, Ozpin put me and my sister on a team, and everything changed. He trusted Raven and I with so many things, so many secrets. He needed someone to share the weight of the world with him, and he gave us wings so we could lift it a little, so it wouldn’t all feel so heavy. With that, he gave both of us a choice. Raven chose not to trust him, after everything he’d done, and I chose to trust him. Because he’d given me everything, and I’d been nothing before I met him.”

“You and Ozpin were lovers,” the younger man stated evenly.

“More than that. Partners. Brothers. Confidants. When we won a battle, saved a city from the Grimm, I’d fly to his office, and he’d take care of my wounds. When we’d lose a war, lost a Maiden to Salem’s followers, he’d coddle me to sleep, holding me close, never stopping until my mind could go numb, until my nightmares could go away. Years passed, Raven left, Summer died. Tai had to look after the girls, Glynda had to look after Beacon, Ironwood after Atlas. But Oz was there for me, through everything, and I was there for him. I trusted him, and he trusted me. 

We’d faced monsters, criminals, seen Kingdoms rise and fall, but the most terrifying thing was to wake up next to this man, see him trembling in his sleep, reliving memories from previous lives in nightmares I could not even dare imagine. The most terrifying thing was not to be able to protect him then, not being able to protect anyone from the scars of the past. Not being able to bring Ruby and Yang’s mothers back, not being able to make the trauma go away even if we won the war. But I trusted Oz, because he was determined to win the war, so I believed at least we could win it so the next generation wouldn’t ever have to know such trauma.”

“But then you figured out Ozpin knew all along that Salem couldn’t be killed… I heard from Ruby.”

“Oz knew everything, and I trusted him, and he never trusted me with that. He betrayed me. I loved him, and he used me. We’re nothing to him than pawns on a chessboard, who can win a game but never win the war.”

“You trusted no one before. And when you opened up to Ozpin, destiny proved you right not to trust anyone. I get why you don’t trust me. It’s never been about me in particular, just about no one being reliable.”

“You’re right… partially. I trust no one, and I distrusted you, wondered why you’d come up with that plan, why you’d left Tyrian to escape and risked your life for me. But this is also about you. You’ve been so… perfect, down to your Semblance counteracting mine, but not just your Semblance, far from it. And I just hoped I could trust you, just you, I hoped could tell you...”

“Tell me what?”

Successive shadows travelled past his burning glare like a murder of Nevermores, conflicting thoughts and emotions he didn’t know how to word, where to even start. Actions spoke louder than words, so he gave in and reached out his valid hand to cup Clover’s jaw, pressing their lips together. 

* * *

+1.

It was supposed to be a chaste kiss, but Clover wouldn’t let Qrow break way, kept leaning in, kissing him again and again, rummaging his hands through the tousled feathery hair, tilting his head for better access, to explore this man he had barely dared to touch. The shapeshifter was a great kisser of course, he was so experienced and skilled at everything. But it didn’t feel right, he shouldn’t take a kiss for an apology, not even for a thank you, shouldn’t let himself become one more of Qrow’s conquests collectioned all over the Kingdoms. He should break away, and yet it was so difficult, he kept falling back to Qrow, into his arms where he belonged…

“I’m sorry… I thought you’d… _like_ this,” the older man exhaled, slightly breathless as he broke the kiss, looking like he wanted to turn into a bird and fly away and probably would have if his arm wasn’t broken. “You were always flirting, never trying to hide it, I guessed… you’d want something like this.”

“I did… and I still do… but I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to kiss me out of pity to apologise for not trusting me. I know romance isn’t your thing, after Ozpin, and you just wanted flings with Glynda, Winter, Ironwood, Robyn, or whoever was there to fill the void. If you want me to fuck you right now, to make you forget, to make your soul numb, just ask me, and I will, if that’s what’ll make you happy. But please don’t just kiss me if this means I’m sorry, if this means goodbye -”

“And here I thought you were smart. Smart enough to devise a plan in a few seconds to save an entire Kingdom, apparently, but not enough to figure out that I love you.”

“You… I...”

“I love you, you’re the first one I loved since Ozpin. And I want to trust you, I want to work on it every day until you trust me and love me back, no matter how hard it is. Because yes, this is war, but Salem may as well have already won if we don’t let ourselves live and hope for a better future, love and keep moving forward. This is what makes us different from her.”

“Well, lucky you, because I’ve loved you since we first met. I trust you, and I know you can’t trust me back right now, and that’s okay. I want you to try. And if you stumble, I’ll still be there for you. And if you fall, I’ll help you back up, and I don’t need anything in return.”

“Good, because we’ll have a lot of time to try while we travel to Shade.”

“So… you’re letting me come with you?”

“Of course, you idiot. I want to see your Huntsman costume. I hope it has some green to bring out your eyes, unlike the boring Specialist uniform. And Vacuo is a desert Kingdom, so if you’re already wearing a sleeveless top in snowy Atlas, I want to see what you have in store for warmer climates.”

Clover had no idea how to respond to that.

“I love you too,” he blurted out dumbly.

“I’d figured, lucky charm. Now come here.”

Clover gladly left his uncomfortable chair to climb into the hospital bed next to his partner, carefully wrapping his arm around the thinner man so as not to touch his bandaged arm. The shapeshifter grumbled in approval at the warmth, leaning into the ex-Operative’s broad shoulders and depositing a gentle kiss against his temple.

“Now that I know you mean it,” Clover asked, “can I kiss you again?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” the older man teased before joining their lips together again. 

It didn’t feel numb nor blissful; it was intense, clumsy navigating around Qrow’s injury, sloppy with how rusty and out of practice Clover felt, too desperate, too gentle, not enough. But none of that mattered, for it was just that, a silent promise spoken louder than a thousand words. A promise both of them would strive to keep. 

And that was everything, and that was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: welp, I finished writing this seconds before the penultimate episode release. Disclaimer: I know people, including me, have said Clover’s luck runs out when his Aura breaks. It’s more subtle than that. We’ve seen Qrow’s misfortune at play on Ruby after his Aura broke in the fight against Tyrian, so their Semblances still work, they’re just more localised and harder to control. But fortune can still very much work in Clover’s favour, even though not necessarily be easily directed to protect others.  
> I need to announce at some point what I’ll put out off volume, but right now I’m out of steam and I wanna watch the Ep too! There is some social media where you guys put out announcements and theories and things, right? (would also be forever grateful for a beta off-volume, no idea how to ask, ping me at elzie DOT rav AT gmail DOT com)  
> Predictions for the end of the volume, here goes nothing: Ironwood will die, pretty much for sure, it’s the first line of his song and his arc is complete in this volume. He could get stabbed with the Staff while trying to protect it. The only thing that could save him is if he gets mortally wounded but Salem captures him before he dies, so he goes missing for the next volume. Winter will become General, she shouldn’t die because she still needs closure for her arcs with Weiss (she’s never really said she’s proud of her!), Jacques, Willow and Whitley, and Qrow. I don’t know if she gets the Maiden powers, probably not (my money’s on Neo at present), but it would be interesting to see her try to prove herself as a good General. Ruby forces Salem to run away without killing her, Ruby and Oscar save the Staff and Winter lets them leave with it. I would LOVE to see her send Clover with them to look after the Staff because that would make so much sense, but don’t think it will happen (too many characters already, the Ace Ops have to stay behind). One can only dream, right?  
> Comment if you think I’m right or wrong, and hope you enjoyed xx  
> \--------------  
> EDIT: I wrote the note before watching Ep 12 (I posted it after the release because I had to run away do real life things) so I'm sorry if anything here sounds insensitive or inappropriate now. I really needed to vent after watching Ep 12 and I'm sorry if I took it out badly on some unfortunate people in the comments section. I wrote a full rant about how I feel about this episode and the character arcs in there. If you want to read it, see here:  
> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XejWS-C3LMEHF6_rmk0Vv-_dQQz3CwJ6ND1nJf_qEfs/edit
> 
> If you liked the Ep, that's fine, even though I doubt anyone here does. If it made you feel shitty, know that you're not alone, and if you need someone to talk to, my email is still up there in the previous note.
> 
> I don't know if I'll keep watching the show. I don't even know if I'll keep writing for the fandom, I was out of ideas on canon compliant stuff anyway, so expect some AU stuff, which is by far my favourite thing to write. Some related to this pairing, others not. I had things in store but I don't know when I have the will and the energy to get back to writing and editing them. 
> 
> Anyway, I will update when I get back, if I get back (I probably will, but not sure if about this pairing). Till then, stay safe, and keep moving forward xx

**Author's Note:**

> Note: unbelievably, this is a 5+1 story of which I’ll be posting the (short) chapters separately. Was supposed to post earlier but got really sick, so schedule is unclear, possibly next chapter tomorrow. Till then, stay posted, warm, and don’t forget the door xx


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